Friday, April 18, 2014

It
is Good Friday, and for many believers, Easter is a time to reflect on the ultimate
sacrifice one can make, namely one's life. Although there are a
number of variations and discrepancies concerning the matter, many hold the belief that God decided to lead his only begotten son
Jesus to be crucified. The crucifixion being one of the most
excruciating and painful types of execution is considered the
ultimate form of sacrifice. As to possible reasons why
Jesus sacrificed himself, those may vary according to one's belief
system, but generally the suffering of Jesus is said to have cleansed
us of our sins (whatever that may be).

Put
differently, Jesus willingly embraced his fate (although he had his
doubts) and deemed his death as necessary and, in fact, as fruitful
for the next generations, if not to say, the rest of humanity to
come. If we look upon as Jesus as a human and not a godlike or
divine being, then he has given his own life for a specific cause, be
it the propagation of his beliefs, a sense of revolution against
occupying forces, or the creation of a mystical spiritual rebirth, i.e. a new-found bond between humans and the divine world. Be it as it
may, I would like to focus on the sacrificial aspect of such an act and
its consequences.

To
do so I would like to take a brief detour and showcase a
well-written and interesting article published recently on the BostonReviewby Oded Na'aman entitled “The Possibility of Self-Sacrifice” (which was kindly brought to my
attention by Caitlin). To briefly summarize the article (though I
recommend it to be read in its entirety), we find that sacrifice can
be done with different intentions and results. Oded Na'aman looks at three sacrificial deaths, that of Socrates, then Yukio Mishima and finally, Emily Wilding Davison.

The
author claims that Socrates did not sacrifice his life for a specific
cause, but he merely and indifferently accepted his fate of abstract
and “blind” justice. Socrates had a choice, to either stay and
drink the cup of poisoned hemlock or to escape and live a (considering his age not
a very long) life in exile. Although his friend Crito tries his best
to convince the great philosopher to escape, the latter does not
budge but manages, in turn, to persuade his friend that there is no
other option than death (a foolish idea to think that
anyone can possibly outwit the inventor of the Socratic method!).

We
must keep in mind that Socrates was acting on principles, but he did
not think much about nor heed what others might have thought of him or his
philosophy after his death. Indeed, if it had not been for Plato, Socrates and his
ideas (and with it Western philosophy as we know it today) might have
vanished from the corners of the earth. But the philosophy of
Socrates was preserved and expounded upon afterwards, that is, after
his death. (Though it could be argued that his death may have so
outraged and impressed his bright pupil to make him feel obliged and inspired
to put it in writing thereafter.) But in the words of Oded Na'aman - or at least my interpretation of them - the death of
Socrates was for no ulterior or outward cause and that Socrates may not
even have considered his own death as a “terrible loss” to others.

Moving
on to Yukio Mishima, we find that he committed suicide by seppuku. Although
it may appear that he was rebelling against a particular cause, the
loss of tradition and conservative identity, his death is said to be
nothing but, ironically, an act of self-preservation. Only by dying
did Mishima feel his life to be validated. In fact, his death did not
achieve any other end and had no direct effects on the proceedings.
The cause was not significantly touched or altered by and after his
death, and hence it was not a sacrificial death, but rather a
desperate attempt of liberating his soul from the corporal prison.
Seen only in terms of his cause, his death would be considered a
misfire since it was a futile deed that brought no change whatsoever
to the cause.

The
final death of Emily Wilding Davison was
one that was tied with a pressing cause, the women's right to vote.
In fact, the suffrage movement fought hard to bring about changes to
an inflexible and misogynistic government (and world) of the times.
Women's voices not being represented in the society of the times led
these women to revolt in extraordinary fashion. They vandalized shops
and offices, got arrested, went on hunger strikes (some of them
secret so as not to be force-fed); they got beaten and bruised, were
declared insane en masse, but still these women were not intimated
neither by threats of violence nor of actual violent retaliation
perpetrated by the British government with the express intention of silencing
them.

After
committing her whole life to the cause, Emily Wilding Davison tried to kill herself as
a sign of protest, which did not work the first time around, but then she
threw herself in front of King George V's horse at a race in full
gear. She died as a result of her wounds and became a visible martyr
for her cause. Finally, although she was no more, her death brought
about reluctant changes, and women were gradually allowed to vote.

In
the eyes of Oded Na'aman, hers was a
sacrificial death because she offered her life for a clear and
tangible cause, and it was not futile because it brought about its
intended effects. This can be not only differentiated from the other
two cases explained above, but it is also different from situations where someone might offer their life for another person's safety or where parents sacrifice themselves for their offspring. The first case, dying for a friend or
even stranger, would be considered heroic, while dying for one's
children would be based more on instinct and feel more natural
than intentional. But to die for a cause is something that has much
more at stake and demands a greater kind of sacrifice, that is to
give up on one's most precious “belonging,” one's existence and
to trade it for a political outcome.

Incidentally,
I have recently watched the movie Hunger (2008),
which was based on the life of Bobby Sands who died of a hunger
strike and managed to bring attention to the dire situation of his
native Ireland. I believe that Oded Na'aman would agree that this was a case of sacrifice as it occurred for
political or politico-ideological reasons, which to Oded Na'aman are of more substance and value than other
considerations when it comes to self-sacrifice.

But
I would like to counteract with Foucault's statement that everything
is indeed political. Every act of defiance may punch a hole into the
political armor. Socrates died for his principles, and his death
could be interpreted as an act of bravery that denounced injustice
occurring anywhere around the world. The fact that he did not escape
to save his hind but that he actually drank the cup that was given to
him shows us his bravery and his defiance, not unlike the Messiah
after him. The death of Socrates will be also remembered as a
pronounced case of a mistrial, witch-hunt and slander against this
formidable thinker.

Similarly,
we can also interpret the death of Jesus as an act of revolt against
the Romans and the priesthood. Then we have Joan of Arc who would
burn as a sinner at the stake, become a martyr and later be revered
by the very own Church as a saint. Although both Jesus and Joan of
Arc may have failed initially in their causes, it is the aftermath of
events that has given them the power to bring about some relevant
changes. From this perspective, their lives could be construed as
political as well as fruitful to their respective causes.

But
at this point, I would like to take a complete detour and claim that
no life should be ever sacrificed and that the value of a person's
existence far exceeds any cause, no matter how worthy and enticing at
first sight. In other words, I wish that Socrates had not
drunk that cup but had actually run away. It would not have made him
a coward or hypocrite in my eyes but only highlighted that he was a
human being who knows and appreciates the value and significance of

life.

I
wish Mishima had not committed suicide but had gone on to live
another forty years. He would have written much more beautiful works
of art and eventually won the Nobel Prize (though that prize in
itself may not be as valuable as many think). And I wish that Emily Wilding Davison had not thrown herself in front of the King's
horse but had chosen to continue a life of protest, an unyielding
defiance and constant reminder to the authorities. I think it is
better to stick out as a sore thumb but alive than be dead and talked
about in one's grave.

I
am weary of politics because it is transitory in nature. I do not
mean that it is not important, nor do I claim that one should not be
politically aware or active, but rather that it can be of a rather
temporal nature. Struggles come and go. Slavery was abolished (in
fact it never should have existed in the first place, but that is
another matter), women's liberation has brought about some changes
(though again definitely not enough judging by today's
standards). Currently, there are gay issues, and they are gaining
ground at least in some more open-minded places. Furthermore, there
are new problems connected with surveillance and the Internet that we
need to pay close attention to. But these things, as a flowing river,
come and go.

Yes, Emily Wilding Davison died for her
cause, and had an effect, but the fact remains that she is dead and
few people remember her for her sacrifice (previous to this article I
had not heard of her). Also, it seems that some changes are
contingent with one's time and environment, the circumstances
surrounding the events. Gay rights could not have been brought up
during the women's liberation movement as people and minds were not
ready for them at the time.

Change
happens when there is a readiness to embrace it. When there is a
certain willingness no matter how remote, one ought to push and push
hard, but it is not worth one's life. I do not claim that one should
accept injustice or remain idle when human rights are trampled upon;
quite to the contrary. One must be denouncing those acts and stand up
against tyrants.

But
once it is an issue of life and death, it is not cowardice to back up
and choose or prefer one's own existence, to continue to remain alive
and useful in this world for the sake of oneself, of others and of
many causes to come. Nothing can compensate or make up for the value
of an individual human existence, least of all a concept or an idea,
patriotism and religion being two of the most pervasive and
destructive ones out there and inside people's minds.

If
more people saw through this, there would be no credible reasons for
war (which are often based on “dead” territory or ideology) nor
to die a martyr, such as the suicide bombers of modern times. No life
should be offered nor blood spilled for any cause. As Oded Na'aman mentions we may be somewhat in control of our lives
in our lifetime, but when it comes to death, it is almost entirely in
the hands of others. And they can do with it as they please; they can
turn you into a hero or a tyrant, or both or none.

So
what about Jesus then? It comes down to a brilliant scenario best
described in Nikos Kazantzaki's Last Temptation of Christ. Should
Jesus have had a life of moderate joys but little significance for
the future or should he have turned into a perpetual shooting star by
dying young and inspiring minds and hearts for time immemorial? But
my counter-question is this, what has changed since his
self-sacrifice? Would Jesus be happy with the outcomes, the status
quo of religion, those interminable years of the Crusades and its
past and current (mis-)interpretation of his words or ideas?

At this
point, and to give this seemingly interminable post a kind of
cliffhanger and food-for-thought ending on this Good Friday of ours, the lines of a Spiritualized
song come to mind: “You'd better come right down and do it all
over again.”

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